Of Filing Cabinets and Meticulousness
by Nevercry
Summary: Vimes and Vetinari, the usual roundabout conversations, and a secret passage to the epitomy of sanity. Implied VimesVetinari


Vimes sat ramrod straight in a backless stool. He had arrived fifteen minutes early for his routine appointment with his Lordship Havelock Vetinari, and was now waiting in the sitting to be called in.

He idly looked around, taking in the conservative decorations. They were left over from the last Patrician, Lord Snapcase. Though they were probably flamboyant when first put in, almost everything had been stripped within minutes of his Lordship's death. Everything looked bare, actually reflecting the persona of the palace's current resident.

_Now_ that _was true Ankh-Morporkian tradition_, Vimes reflected;_ steal first, mourn later_.

He was pulled from his reverie when the Irregular Regularity (his personal nickname for the disconcerting clock hanging in the room) called one. As the sound faded, there was a measured, clipped voice that bid him enter.

He pushed open the door, strode in quickly, and snapped off a salute. Being Vimes, though, he managed to convey his general 'where the sun doesn't shine' attitude in the process.

There sat Vetinari, with long, slender fingers touching the sleeves opposite them. His eyes were looking out of the uncovered window, but when Vimes' boot struck a sour creak from the floor (he had long ago learned where it was; he used it to announce himself, after a fashion) they slowly turned to him.

"So, Vimes, what have you come to report to me?" His face betrayed nothing, but they both knew that nothing in the city was outside the Patrician's knowledge.

Taking a deep breath, Vimes carefully said, "Well, sir, it seems Chrysophase is pushing a new kind of Slab on the streets. Corporal Littlebottom tells me that only a very little percent of it is actually narcotic, though. It appears to be mostly of a different and harmless substance." He hoped to the gods that Vetinari wouldn't ask too many questions about this.

"I believe your Sergeant Detritus is also spearheading this investigation, like he did the last. Do you know what the substance is, perchance?"

_Damn_. Vimes knew where Vetinari was going to lead this, and he dreaded it. Well, there was no alternative…"Baking powder, sir."

"And what has the sergeant said about that?" the man's placid eyes almost seemed innocent as he shifted through the papers on his desk.

Managing, through a valiant effort, to keep a straight face, Vimes answered, "He says that it's an outrage, sir."

Vetinari diplomatically read over the selected sheet. "It seems he did say that, Vimes. Rather loudly, in fact, in the direct vicinity of one of Mr. Chrysophase's employees. I believe his words were, 'It's an outrage to sell bad Slab for money.'"

Vimes mentally slumped, and decided to go for broke. "It was actually, 'It an outrage, bad Slab fer good money, own up.' Sir."

A smile played at the corners of the others man's mouth. He closed his eyes, stifled a chuckle, and opened them again, looking into Vimes'. "I suppose there's no help for it."

He pushed back his chair, walked slowly and carefully around his desk, and lightly patted Vimes' shoulder. Very, _very_ confused, Vimes blinked at him. Barely trusting himself to speak, he slowly said, "…Sir?"

"This city will never change. Although…" He looked thoughtful a moment, then went over to an ornate coat hanger. "I suppose it has, recently. Are you disappointed, Sir Samuel?"

"…A little, maybe. I liked the old, easy system; there were only criminals, and the cops that noticed them. It was a helluva lot simpler before, sir." Suddenly, Vimes felt tired. He really had liked it better before, when there was only one law; Stay Alive.

Vetinari nodded almost imperceptibly, and tugged on a crisp, neatly hung coat. Now that Vimes came to notice it, it was always hanging up there. He had never personally seen the brittle man wear anything but his suit with its black-embroidered décolletage, unless it was an official occasion. This coat was a pleasant brown, and wasn't suited for any of the Vetinari's tasks. The man wasn't pulling the garment off of its hook, though; he was pulling it and the wood to an angle.

Vimes stared at it blankly, wondering which of them had lost their mind this time. It dawned on him that it was a secret passage when the wall shifted outward at his touch. The other man led the way, not even looking back at his company. He was utterly sure that Vimes would follow him without question.

_And that's exactly what I'm doing!_ Vimes reflected five minutes later, grinding his teeth. _Damn Vetinari with his damn knack of knowing every damn thing about everyone!_ It occurred to him that perhaps the Patrician had taken a certain interest in him, to know him so thoroughly. He shook the thought off vehemently. Not in all the hells could he let himself build up hope. Hope was for the stupid, or for people who don't actually think anything would happen.

Another few minutes passed in near-silence, aside from Vimes' muttering "Ouch," "Damn" or "It's a bloody secret passage! How can you trip over a child's toy in here?" every few seconds.

By the amount of stairs they were going down, Vimes guessed they had gone underneath the palace. Also, though, they had gone forward without turning, so perhaps they weren't under the building after all. Vimes' feet told him they had gone far enough to be under the park. His feet had saved his life more than once, when his brain didn't know what to do.

He hadn't noticed when they entered a huge chamber. When he took stock of what he saw, his jaw fell open.

"Filing cabinets?" he choked out, looking at the incredible sea of metallic beige and gray. The rows stretched in stark logical rows as far at the light reached, and gave the feeling of continuing quite a bit further. _This is it,_ he thought numbly, _this is where Vetinari goes to be as barking sane as he likes._

"Yes, Samuel. This is where I keep all the information I have collected over the years I have held public office. This is, I believe, the equivalent of an investigator's wet dream." Something was trying to get its pointy little boot into his brain.

In shock, Vimes walked to the nearest drawer and opened it slowly. Taking the thinnest file, he opened it and read aloud, "'Hammond Limed, son of Mr. and Mrs. Harold Limed, born: March 3, 8:26 pm died: March 3, 8:37 pm.' You keep records of _every single one_?"

"Indeed. It is an unrelated coincidence that every March 3rd there appears to be a blossom of lily outside their doorstep." Vetinari bowed slightly, encouraging him on.

Taking another file from a different drawer, this time substantially thicker, Vimes read the front. "'Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson.' What does he concern you, huh?"

"Everyone concerns me, even someone in the Watch. I must be sure of their intentions and loyalties before I trust them with the protection of the city."

Getting an idea, and hoping that he was wrong, Vimes headed down the rows until he found the V section. _Va-, Ve-, Vi-…Vim should be it_. He opened the top drawer, but he didn't see his name. Nor was it in the middle. When he opened the third and final, he fell backwards onto the ground.

_The entire drawer?_

Vetinari walked up sedately. "Ah, yes. You found _your_ file. I've become a bit meticulous, in later years."

"This is a handwritten note! 'Dux Commander Samuel Vimes, mar. Duchess Sybil Ramkin, sir. Samuel Vimes Jr.' Ye gods, has my title become that long?"

"The troubles of public office, I'm afraid, Samuel."

Vimes stopped dead. That's what had been bothering him! Vetinari had called him by his first name, and he had _never_ done that!

"You know, when I think about it, you seem to be the closest thing I have to a friend. Isn't that odd?" Vimes visibly swallowed. Somehow, this didn't feel like it would be heading in a comfortable direction…

"Sir?"

"Oh, no, it's nothing, Commander. Shall we return to the palace, or will you venture further?" Vimes definitely felt the slide back into the formal address. The conversation was over.

"Actually...I do have one thing more, sir." Vimes stood up, and walked back the way he had come, stopping only a few rows down. _Vetinari wouldn't have, even he wasn't that sane..._

"Ye gods, sir, there's even one on_ you?_" Came a cry. Vetinari smiled, genuinely, and strode over.

"Oh, yes. It even has a list of every pet I have ever owned." Vimes was already staring in horror at the list.

"And you named all of them Snuffles?" He nearly shreiked.

"I rather...like the name. You're one to speak, raising dragons on your own land such as you do."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"By all means, I'm sure."

"You're hopeless, sir."

"Indubitably."


End file.
